


And We Danced All Night (to the Best Song Ever)

by IAmAVeronica



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Boy Band, Bodyguard Derek Hale, Dom/sub Undertones, Fluff and Smut, Knotting, Light Angst, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Singer Stiles Stilinski, Strangers to Lovers, stalkers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-18
Updated: 2016-01-31
Packaged: 2018-05-07 10:03:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5452682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IAmAVeronica/pseuds/IAmAVeronica
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is one-fifth of the country's most beloved boy band. He has a secret werewolf best friend, a stalker getting more threatening by the day, and a plan to go solo and perform his own stuff.<br/>Derek is his new bodyguard, with a <em>lot</em> of ideas about what else Stiles should be doing with his famous mouth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a work I'm posting simultaneously to my WIP angst-fest: http://archiveofourown.org/works/5442803/chapters/12578702. It's going to be an exercise in smut, with just enough angst to qualify as a plot.  
> Rating will probably shoot up to explicit in the next chapter.  
> This entire thing is mostly the fault of my cousin, who introduced me to One Direction and actually made me think Larry was a real thing for like five minutes. It's also partially my fault, because turns out I really love writing trashy lyrics for fake boy bands.  
> Tags will be updated with basically just a collection of kinks. I'm going to try REALLY HARD not to run away with the angst and keep this short, sweet, and smutty.

Derek Hale would do anything for his little sister. Anything. He’d take a bullet for her without blinking, jump off a bridge if she’d jumped first, give her any vital organ up to and including his heart. _Anything._

But she is really pushing the limit right now. 

“Maybe I should have worn my _We are Now_ t-shirt, from their documentary,” Cora says for the fiftieth time, messing with his rearview mirror so she can look at her reflection. “I don’t want them to think I’m just some reporter on assignment, you know?” 

“Trust me, they’ll get the picture when you faint as soon as we walk through the door.” 

“I’m a professional, Derek. I’m not going to faint.” 

“Then you’re going to throw up. All over Isaac Lahey.” 

Cora glares at him. “Dick.” 

Derek bites back a retort that he is the _last_ person she should be insulting right now. Sure, he’s dreading this concert with every fiber of his being, but he doesn’t want to rub it in, because he knows full well he wasn’t exactly her first choice to be going along today. 

He’d bought Cora two tickets for her favorite boy band, Wolf Pack, a year in advance, planning for her to go with their older sister, Laura. That plan had fallen through when Laura was killed eight months earlier. 

Her death, coming only a few years after the rest of their family died in a fire, had almost destroyed Cora completely, and Derek can’t stand to see his little sister even the slightest bit sad. He’d agreed to go along with her in Laura’s place with a forced smile. Then the faculty advisor of Cora’s school newspaper had pulled some massive strings for poor little Orphan Hale and got her an exclusive interview with the Wolf Pack boys after the concert. 

He’d gone from chaperone to photographer just like that, and his smile became _way_ more forced, because actually having to meet the smarmy little pricks every girl in America is obsessed with might actually be a violation of whatever constitutional right prohibits torture. 

“I’m going to quiz you again,” Cora says, turning down the CD they’ve been listening to on repeat for the past week. 

“This is so unnecessary.” 

“Derek, if you embarrass me in front of them I will never live it down. _Ever_.” Cora makes her puppy-dog eyes at him. “I know you know this now. Which one is Scott?” 

Derek sighs. “Scott is the lead singer. He’s the nice one.” 

“ _Sweet_ one,” Cora corrects. “Good job. Jackson?” 

“The douchey one.” 

“Preppy one.” 

“Same thing.” 

“Not to the Jacky Wacks.” 

Derek resists the urge to bang his head on the steering wheel. “You have _names_ based on what guy you like most?” 

“I don’t ascribe to any of those groups. I’m just a Pup. That’s what fans of the band in general are called.” 

“Cora Hale, you come from a long line of werewolves who would be so ashamed of you right now.” 

“Next one,” Cora says loudly. “Danny?” 

“The geeky one.” 

“Good! Stiles?” 

“The cute one,” Derek says without thinking, and immediately wants to kill himself. 

“ _Derek_ ,” Cora scolds, thankfully missing the Freudian nature of his slip. “Isaac’s the cute one. Stiles is the funny one. Although now I guess he’s also kind of the artistic one.” 

“Artistic and funny both sound like code for ‘the gay one.’” Derek grumbles, rankled at his mistake. He does not find a Wolf Pack boy cute. He’s not a fucking _Pup_. 

“No, it’s because he’s starting to do some solo stuff. Some people in the fandom are worried he might leave the group. The Sciles shippers are especially worried— oh, those are people who think Scott and Stiles should date.” 

“I thought Scott had a girlfriend.” 

“He does, but they have a total bromance. Personally, I ship Scissac, even though they’re both straight. Somehow that’s less weird than shipping one gay guy and one straight one— ” 

Derek swears his brain actually aches, as if it tried to make a run for it and slammed against his skull. He turns up the music, forgetting that they’re listening to the Wolf Pack’s first album for the seventy-fifth time: 

_You’re my piece of the sun_

 _You’re my only number one_

 _

‘Cause all the girls who told me lies 

Were just black holes in disguise 

Every day you shine 

So lucky to call you mine…

_

“‘The long night is over and the eclipse is now done,’” Cora sings along. “’I’ve got my piece of the sun!’” 

“Boo,” Derek says flatly. 

“Says the guy who only likes four songs in the world.” 

“You don’t need more than four. And they’re great songs.” 

“’Nux Vomica,’ ‘Post Blue,’ ‘Paint it Black,’ and ‘And So it Goes?’” Cora grimaces. “You’re like a fifteen-year-old boy who just discovered the darkness in his soul.” 

“No. I’m like a twenty-four-year-old man who has _embraced_ the darkness in his soul.” 

“The Billy Joel one is okay. The rest is just emo.” She pauses, then touches his arm lightly. “I do really appreciate this, you know,” she says softly. 

Derek sighs and squeezes her hand, eyes still on the road. “Anything for you,” he says a little tragically as an absolute monstrosity called ‘She Makes me Wanna Oh-Oh-Oh’ starts playing. 

# 

“Hey, bro.” Scott slides into the seat next to Stiles. “Cupcake just sent the track for ‘Hoodie Love.’” 

Stiles drops his notation paper and looks at Scott. “How is it?” 

Scott shrugs. “I’d say it’ll hit Top Five, at least.” 

“Will it win us a Grammy, become the anthem to a worldwide movement, and change the face of music forever?” 

“Uh.” Scott holds his headphones out so Stiles can listen. “They mixed bongos into the beginning.” 

Stiles closes his eyes as Scott presses play. This is a sample track for the first song that’s going to be on their next album. They’re about to finish up their last tour; they’ll be in California performing for almost two weeks before it’s right back into the studio. 

He hasn’t seen the lyrics to ‘Hoodie Love’ before but he feels his jaw drop as the song plays: 

_You act like such a goody-goody_

 _But baby I love you in a hoodie_

 _

Keep that hair in a messy bun 

Wipe off that lipstick and you’re the one…

_

“Catchy,” Scott says cheerfully when the track ends. 

“Sheesh, Scotty. Catchy like Ebola. It’s like the sequel to that awful Barbie song from our second album— ” 

“‘Barbie-Doll World?’” Jackson shouts from the other end of the bus. “I love that song!” 

“She’s living in a Barbie-doll world,” Scott sings. “With her makeup just right and her clothes way too tight…” 

“Because it’s so cool to mock girls for wearing makeup or dressing a certain way,” Stiles grumbles. “There’s a reason that song never made it as a single, you know. It’s practically slut-shaming. And this is just as bad— it’s telling girls that oh, hey, remember guys only like you based on what you wear and how you look.” 

“No soapboxes in the tour bus,” Danny groans from where he’s flopped on a couch. “Don’t we have a concert in, like, three hours?” 

“Yeah, we do,” Scott says cheerfully. “And Stiles is singing one of his original songs, so we have to support him today.” 

“Thanks, buddy. I could use it.” Stiles sighs as he looks down at his sheet music. He’s done originals a few other times, and they go over well, but he always feels a little nervous before he performs something new. 

He loves the Wolf Pack, especially getting to be with his friends all day, but he wants to make music that actually matters. Something real, and raw, and original. Something that _belongs_ to him, not a bunch of studio execs. 

“Is it just the performance that’s freaking you out?” Scott asks softly, taking back his iPad. “You haven’t gotten any messages today, have you?” 

Stiles grimaces. He doesn’t want to think about DreadDoctor111, his superfan turned stalker, who’s been making some vague promises about showing up at a concert so they can _finally be united._ He’s dealt with some weirdo fans in the past, but DreadDoctor111 is constantly able to figure out Stiles’s personal email, no matter how many times he changes it. DreadDoctor111 knows a lot of…personal things. Personal enough that the security detail is worried he might have hacked into Stiles’s laptop. And a few weeks ago he’d gotten some blurry pictures that appeared to be of his dad, with the accompanying note: _Bet he wouldn’t approve of all the things I want to do to you :)_

So, yeah. Stiles loves his fans, they make this all possible, they’re the music in his soul and blah blah blah, but fuck that guy right off a cliff. 

“Nah, nothing new. Just trying to get myself in the zone.” Stiles makes his sultriest face at Scott. 

“Okay, dude. If you’re sure. I’m going to go Skype Kira so she can wish me good luck before we go on.” 

“Aww. Your love really warms the cockles of my lonely geezer heart, you know that?” 

“We gotta find you someone, man. Are you sure none of the backup dancers do it for you?” 

“Nah.” Stiles gives a huge, put-upon sigh. “I’m just gonna read some Stisaac fanfiction and jerk it in the shower.” 

“Dick,” Isaac says without looking up from his laptop. 

Stiles messes with his music for a little while longer before he really does have to go shower and wrestle himself into his skinny jeans. And, despite how much he loves teasing Isaac, he absolutely does _not_ pleasure himself to Stisaac fanfiction. 

He’s a Janny guy all the way. 

# 

It’s bad. Oh, it’s so bad. It’s twenty times worse than Derek had feared. Everywhere he looks he sees their faces— on shirts, posters, buttons, _masks that teenage girls are wearing over their own faces, what the actual fuck…_

Cora drags Derek to the floor in front of the stage. Seriously? They have to stand for this whole thing? Derek’s senses are assaulted with sweat and cheap perfume and cheaper stadium food. He wants to shift, curl up into a ball on the ground, and whimper like a puppy until someone lets him go home. 

A group of girls shove at Cora to try and get a better spot to stand, and Derek growls at them, because no way is that shit going to fly. He feels a little bit better after that and glares around at everyone else in case they want to try the same thing. 

When the lights go out the screeches from all around him make him want to jump out of his own skin. The Wolf Pack boys look so tiny when they come out on stage, and if Derek didn’t hate them so much on principle he would almost feel sorry for them. Walking out to this kind of crowd must be like walking out to meet an executioner. 

He expects them to be totally shitty live, but he thinks they might actually be OK. It’s hard to tell, because everyone in the crowd is singing along. What the fuck is the point of that? If Derek designed concerts, everyone would be in a damn seat, and would listen silently and politely to music played at reasonable volume, and would golf-clap after each song. And the whole thing would only be an hour long, tops. And even with all those restrictions, he _still wouldn’t go_. 

Cora’s loving it, though. That’s all that matters. 

After about ten songs four of the guys wave and walk off the stage, leaving Stiles alone. “He’s going to do an original!” Cora shouts to Derek. “This almost never happens!” 

Stiles looks a little self-conscious on stage by himself. Stagehands push on a piano and he sits, ducking his head a little bit at the roar of the crowd. Derek finds himself feeling glad that Stiles hadn’t pulled out a guitar like a douchebag at a frat party. 

“Hey, guys,” Stiles says into the microphone. “So, uh, the band was nice enough to give me a few minutes to let you guys hear something I wrote. This is ‘Maybe Tomorrow.’” 

The stadium actually gets kind of quiet as Stiles puts his hands on the keys and starts the song: 

_Remember the day that we went to the zoo?_

 _Spent hours watching monkeys, just me and you_

 _

After we went home I’d beg you every day 

If we could go back there, if we could stay 

We’ll take Dad too, he’ll love it, I know, 

And you’d smile and say, 

Maybe tomorrow…

_

“I think this is about his mom,” Cora says to Derek as the song goes on. 

“His mom?” 

“Yeah. She died when he was little. Some sort of brain thing. He doesn’t really talk about it, not even in the documentary.” 

“Oh.” Derek stares at the kid on stage. He’s eyes are fixed firmly on his sheet music, fingers trembling over the keys: 

_Will you please get up? Will you please come home?_

 _Will you promise you won’t leave us all alone?_

 _

I know I talk too much and I can be too loud 

But I can try to be good and make you proud. 

I want a bedtime story and a kiss goodnight 

And if you just came home I think you’d be all right 

Please, get out of that bed and we can go 

You turned your face and said, 

Maybe tomorrow…

_

The song is actually, maybe, not terrible. Derek’s not going to put it at Number Five of his favorite songs or anything, but Stiles at least sounds like he cares about what he’s singing, and he’s a decent piano player. And, since this is the song’s debut, nobody in the audience is singing along, thank God. 

_Will I ever wake up and not think first of you?_

 _Will I ever stop missing what we’ll never do?_

 _

Will I find a way to finally move on, 

And be at peace with you being gone? 

Will it come, this day that I can let go? 

Not today, not today … 

Maybe tomorrow.

_

Stiles’ hands slide off the keys and the stadium goes wild for him. Derek actually applauds for a moment before crossing his arms and finding his scowl again when the rest of the boys come back on stage and the horror continues. 

# 

“Did we have a VIP in the crowd?” Stiles asks Scott when the concert ends and the boys make a break for backstage. 

“I don’t think so. Why?” 

“I think I saw a bodyguard down by the stage.” They’re easy to spot— they never look like they’re having any fun, and they glare around at everyone in the crowd as if each one is an assassin-in-waiting. This one had been so tense it must have been somebody _seriously_ important in the crowd. He hadn’t been bad looking, either… 

“Boys!” he hears Finstock bark. Their manager waves to them. “Get over here! I have big news!” 

Their manager is always hovering somewhere between a ten and an eleven on the excitement scale, but today he looks even more manic than usual. “First of all, I’m expecting serious kudos for this,” he barks. “For the past few weeks I’ve been in negotiations with a Hollywood studio about getting you boys in a movie. Your agents love the idea, the studio found a producer who’s _very_ willing to go forward, and I just got the call that they found a scriptwriter and have officially put the project into pre-production. The next album’s on hold, boys. You’re going to be movie stars.” 

The guys exchange baffled looks. “We already have a movie,” Scott says. “ _We are Now_ , remember? Our documentary?” 

“This isn’t a documentary, McCall! This studio wants to go back to the old days, when musicians traveled seamlessly from the stadium to the big screen. Think Elvis in _Jailhouse Rock_. The Beatles in whatever the hell their movie was.” 

“Britney in _Crossroads_ ,” Stiles says doubtfully. 

“Exactly! This is going to be huge for you. And you can finally take a break from touring. We’re going to be here in California for a while— long enough that we can fly your families out and get them set up in vacation homes.” 

That actually does sound pretty great, but Stiles can tell the others aren’t sold. “What’s the movie going to be about?” Danny asks skeptically. 

Finstock waves off the question. “Who knows? Something action-adventure, probably. You’ll be spies protecting the country through the power of music, or explorers on the hunt for the perfect scarf for Lahey. It doesn’t matter. All you have to do is show up and read your lines, and we’re all paid and happy.” He checks his watch. “I have a conference call. We’ll talk more in a half-hour. Don’t forget you have an interview in the green room with a high school paper reporter in five minutes.” 

Everyone breaks out into a chorus of complaints. “Since when do we do high school interviews?” Jackson demands. 

“It’s a make-a-wish kid or something. No…some girl who lost her parents and sister. Her school reached out to us and begged us to do it. So _be nice_.” Finstock points a warning finger at Isaac. “And don’t sleep with her!” 

“One time,” Isaac protests, but their manager has already moved away, frantically messaging someone on his BlackBerry. Stiles is going to miss him so much when he dies of a stress-related heart attack in approximately two months. 

“Your song went over well,” Scott says to Stiles as they head for the green room. 

“Thanks. I hope Finstock heard it. If this movie thing goes through and it’s a while before we’re back in the studio, it wouldn’t be completely insane for me to release some solo stuff, right?” Stiles pushes open the door to the green room, pasting a smile on his face for the reporter, only to see the man he’d taken as a bodyguard standing there awkwardly holding a camera. 

“Hi!” the dark-haired girl standing beside him says a little breathlessly. “My name’s Cora Hale, reporter for the Beacon Chronicle. Your manager told us we could do the interview here. ” 

“Hi, Cora. Nice to meet you.” Stiles shakes her hand, trying to catch the other’s man’s eye as the other Wolf Pack boys shake her hand as well. 

“This is my brother Derek. He’s going to be taking some pictures, if that’s okay.” 

“Sounds good.” Stiles throws a curious look to Scott, who hasn’t shaken Cora’s hand but is standing still, staring at Cora and her brother. “Ah, we have, like, twenty minutes, so let’s just get right to it.” 

“Great.” Cora throws them a few softball questions, writing their answers down diligently in a notepad. Derek just stands there, looking long-suffering. It’s a shame he isn’t here of his own free will, because Stiles would be _very_ happy to get a little one-on-one fan time in with him. He actually gets pretty deep into a fantasy about it, imagining those big hands stroking him; that stubble rubbing against his cheek… 

About five minutes into the interview Stiles realizes that there’s something up with Scott. He hasn’t answered a single question and keeps staring significantly at Stiles, jerking his head towards Derek. When Stiles just shakes his head, confused, Scott bugs out his eyes and points to his phone. Stiles sighs, leaning over the green room couch so he can grab his cell phone from where he’d left it charging before the concert. 

There’s a text from Scott waiting: 

**Werewolves.**

Stiles exchanges a panicked look with his best friend before looking back at Derek and Cora Hale. Scott nods almost imperceptibly. 

Oh, _shit_. 

# 

These pop stars are weird as hell. 

Three of them seem fine— they answer Cora’s questions with what sounds like genuine interest, not even sounding a little condescending. But Scott— _the sweet one_ , Derek’s abused mind dutifully reminds him— and Stiles— _not the cute one_ — are clearly texting each other back and forth frantically, answering questions when directly addressed only with one- or two-word answers. 

It puts Derek on edge. He feels odd, almost full-moon restless, as though there’s something tugging on his leash. He’s about ready to growl at the two boys when Cora finishes up her questions and asks him to get a few pictures. 

He notices that Scott and Stiles are careful not to stand next to Cora when he takes a picture of all six of them. Stiles won’t stop watching Derek suspiciously, as though the camera might be a cleverly disguised weapon. 

Jesus. Celebrities. 

“I guess that’s everything,” Cora says. Derek notices her exchange a little smile with Isaac Lahey, who _had_ stood next to her for the picture, and he has half a mind to redirect his growl to that douchebag before he gets any ideas. 

“Wait,” Stiles says quickly, exchanging a look with Scott again. “You guys want to see the tour bus? Get some pictures of it?” 

“That would be great!” Cora says. Derek bites his tongue. 

“Cool. Me and Scott can take you. The rest of you guys can stay in here to meet Finstock.” 

Cora says her goodbyes to the other Wolf Pack boys before following Stiles and Scott out the stadium’s back door. Derek lags behind, wondering why the two boys who had seemed least interested in Cora’s interview are taking her on a private tour of their bus. 

“Just right in here,” Stiles says when they reach what looks like a luxury home on wheels. He unlocks it and enters, closely trailed by Scott. Cora and Derek follow— only to immediately find themselves facing down the barrel of a gun. 

Derek snarls, instinctually putting himself in front of Cora. Stiles is holding the weapon with Scott standing just behind him. “Don’t fucking move,” Scott says. “He’s got wolfsbane bullets in there.” 

Shit. _Shit_. Where the hell did these kids get their hands on wolfsbane? Derek keeps himself between Cora and the gun, mind racing. He may not be the best guardian in the world, but no way is his little sister getting murdered by her favorite boy band on his watch. 

“Why did you come here?” Scott asks him, sounding desperate. ‘Why can’t you just leave me alone?” 

Derek stares at him. “ _Us?_ Who’s holding who at gunpoint here? Where the hell did you get that thing anyway, your grandfather’s attic?” He turns his glare on Stiles, and Scott growls— a low, protective, _familiar_ sound. Derek’s mouth drops open. “You’re a werewolf,” he realizes. 

Scott hiccups out a laugh. “Like you didn’t know.” 

“I didn’t.” Derek looks at Cora. “Did you?” 

Cora shakes her head, eyes wide. “I had no idea.” 

“You’re lying,” Stiles says, sounding unsure. He looks at his friend. “Scott? Are they lying?” 

Scott’s gaze flickers uncertainly between Derek and Cora. “You’re not here to kill me?” he says in a small voice. 

Derek feels like an absolute idiot. No wonder he’d been feeling restless— he’d been in the same room as another wolf and had been too distracted to notice. “ _No_. Why would you think we wanted to kill you? We’re werewolves; you’re one of us. We’re the last people in the world who would want to hurt you.” 

Scott scowls. “That’s bullshit. Ever since I got bit I’ve been on the run from other wolves.” 

Derek’s heart sinks and he actually feels sorry for the kid. “You were bit? By who?” 

“We don’t know,” Stiles says, finally lowering the gun. “We were fifteen, out in the woods, and got separated. Scott didn’t see who it was that bit him, but after he turned, whoever it was came after him. It must’ve been a whole pack, because they just kept _coming_ , going after him, me, his mom... it was endless. That’s why we ended up trying to go big with Wolf Pack— we needed a reason to get out of town, and to make sure Scott would always be protected.” 

“You became famous to avoid _werewolf hunters?_ ” Cora sounds like she’s a second away from stress-induced hysterical laughter. “Jeez, Derek. Why didn’t we ever think of that?” 

Derek doesn’t answer, just eyes Stiles suspiciously. “You’re human, though. How do you factor into all this?” 

Stiles shrugs. “Scott needs me,” he says simply. “I did all the research for him, figured out what was going on. After a werewolf caught up to us last year and ran off when our bodyguards went after him, I tracked down wolfsbane bullets online. We have to keep what he is a secret, so I lock him up when the full moon comes and stay on guard for any wolfsbane exposure.” 

Derek hears Cora gasp, and, honestly, he’s right there with her. “You _lock him up?_ Scott, have you never gone out on a full moon?” 

“Well…no,” Scott says, still looking baffled. “Of course not. What if I hurt somebody?” 

This poor kid. He’s never had a pack like Derek; he has no idea how to be a wolf. It’s a miracle he’s kept himself and his friend alive for the past four years. “Scott, you…you shouldn’t do that. You can let yourself shift without completely losing your mind.” There’s a whole speech he should be giving the kid, he knows, the same one he got from his parents when he was a kid, but he really doesn’t want a manager or reporter to walk in and catch him giving an earnest _How to Be the Best Werewolf You Can Be_ talk to _People’s_ Sexiest Teen. 

The four of them stand there awkwardly for a few seconds, Scott and Stiles just exchanging looks as if they’re communicating telepathically. “Well,” Derek says. “If we’re done here…” 

“Derek,” Cora hisses, yanking on his sleeve. “We can’t just _leave_ him. He doesn’t have a pack!” 

“He’s fine, Cora. He has…people.” 

“But he might go Omega!” 

Derek sighs. After the decimation of their family Cora had become sort of obsessed with the lone wolves who went insane without a pack, biting anything in sight. “He might not know other wolves, but he has friends. That’s enough of a pack for him, okay? He’s not a puppy we can just adopt.” 

“ _Derek_.” Cora gives him a look that reminds Derek way too much of their mother. “He needs to be taught how to be a werewolf. Look, he’s famous. If he gets discovered, _everyone_ knows about werewolves. We can’t let that happen. We have a _duty_.” 

“She’s right,” Scott says, pulling Derek’s attention back. He looks pretty freaked out. “Look, I’ve been running from this ever since I was bit. I didn’t know there were other werewolves out there just _living_. We’ve been trying to suppress what I am, but if you can teach me how to live with it…” 

“Every full moon he gets a little worse,” Stiles says quietly. “Last time he almost broke through the locks. I…I had to give the other guys knives with wolfsbane and tell them to stab Scott if he came at them. They thought we were high.” 

Derek groans and wishes for the millionth time he’d never bought Cora those tickets. Laura must be looking down at them right now laughing her ass off. “We can’t exactly go on tour with you. Cora has school.” 

Stiles’s eyes light up. “But we’re staying! We’re filming a movie after the tour is over…we’re going to be here in California for months! We can give you a job so you have a reason to be with the band all day, and you can give Scotty his werewolf lessons when we’re not performing. It’s _perfect_.” 

“You’re doing a _movie?_ ” Cora asks breathlessly. Derek glares at her before turning back to the boys. 

“A job as what? The token werewolf in the entourage? I already have a job, and I’m Cora’s sole support now. I’m sorry, but I can’t just drop everything to help you.” 

Stiles looks Derek up and down. “What’s your job?” 

“I’m a cop. A deputy.” He doesn’t love it— he doesn’t exactly have a winning personality to help him makes friends on the force— but it puts food on the table, and he’d passed training easily, and it at least gives him and Cora a modicum of protection from hunters. 

Scott and Stiles exchange looks again. Stiles frowns at Scott and shakes his head minutely. “Stiles has a stalker,” Scott says after a second. 

“ _Scott_ ,” Stiles mutters. 

Derek blinks. “Uh…sorry to hear that?” 

“He needs a bodyguard. We have four who work for the band in general, but this guy…he’s really getting intense. Weird messages are coming in every week. Our manager was saying it’s about time for Stiles to have a bodyguard solely to look out for him. You being a cop is _great_. We hire police for temporary guarding all the time. So long as your Sherriff or whoever approves, you just work for us for a few months at our rate, then go back to the force.” 

Derek frowns, hating that he’s actually considering it. “What’s your rate?” 

Scott names a price that nearly has Derek’s eyes popping out of his head. He looks at Stiles. “I’ve never been a bodyguard,” he says doubtfully. 

Stiles’s lips quirk up. Oh, fuck it. Cora doesn’t know what she’s talking about. He _is_ the cute one. “Don’t worry. I’m pretty low maintenance.” 

“What’s the risk here? How many men a year do you lose?” 

Scott snickers. “We’ve never lost a single one, dude. Trust me, it’s an easy gig. Our whole security team is on the lookout for Stiles’s stalker, so all you have to do is stick close to him in public, watch out for anybody suspicious, and keep an eye on Stiles at all times.” 

_No problem_ , Derek thinks before he can stop himself. Damn it, Cora’s rubbing off on him. He glances at Cora, regrets it immediately when he sees the pleading look in her eyes, glances at the boys, and regrets _that_ immediately when he sees the exactly same puppy-dog expression. “Fine,” he says. “But only until Scott’s got himself sorted out.” 

Stiles grins at him and Derek regrets everything. 

# 

“You know you can’t sleep with your bodyguard, right?” Scott says to Stiles two hours later, when they’ve finished working everything out with the Hales, Finstock, and the security team. Finstock already has a call out to the Beacon Hills police force to arrange for Derek’s new assignment— sometimes it’s nice to be famous. 

“I never said I wanted to sleep with him.” Stiles considers. “Wait, why _can’t_ I sleep with him? Who made up that rule?” 

“I don’t know. I think it’s in the Bodyguard Code. Watch your client’s ass, don’t pound it, etcetera.” 

“First of all, gross. And second…there’s no such thing as the Bodyguard Code, and even if there was, Derek wouldn’t have read it.” 

“Well, fine. Then you can’t sleep with my Werewolf Mentor. That’s just in the Bro Code.” 

Stiles nods thoughtfully. “What’s the Bro Code’s position on deepthroating your Werewolf Mentor? And can I appeal something in the Bro Code if I think it’s unfair? What’s the standard penalty for breaking a rule?” 

Scott snorts and gives up. “Fine. Go on a happy sex bender with him. But when DreadDoctor111 murders you because your bodyguard was too busy shopping for lube to protect you, don’t come crying to me.” 

“Aww, Scotty. Your kindness really gets me through the days.” Stiles leans back against the sofa, thinking of Derek Hale’s delicious little scowl. Sometimes, when crowds get especially bad, the bodyguards have to hustle the boys away under their arms. He imagines Derek pressed up tight against Stiles, a protective hand on his back, his lips only inches away when he glances down to make sure Stiles is all right… 

Oh, boy. The Bro Code is totally screwed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know, I abandoned you and I'm sorry! I couldn't stop writing angst!  
> Next update will hopefully come sooner than this one did!  
> Also I legitimately can't stop watching One Direction videos now. I am a grown-ass adult. But Liam and Niall and Louis are so cute. Please help me.

Derek has so, so many questions about what it means to be a bodyguard. 

What he’s supposed to wear is a big one. 

Who he’s supposed to kill is a bigger one. 

As far as he can tell the Wolf Pack boys are besieged by screaming teenagers every time they go outside. Each and every one seem pretty damn threatening to him, but he’s pretty sure he’s not supposed to snap all of their necks, no matter how tempting it may be. 

Cora offers to help and rents what she swears is a documentary about the gritty reality of being a bodyguard. It takes Derek way too long to realize they’re actually watching some romance movie from the 1990’s starring Kevin Costner and Whitney Houston. 

Hilarious. 

He’d been taking down notes on it for like ten minutes. 

Cora does tell him to wear his leather jacket, though. When he asks why she says simply that she’s pretty sure Stiles had liked it when Derek wore it to the concert. 

He hates that the thought of that makes him preen a little. That’s his goddamn wolf side acting up, feeling all proud at the thought of impressing a potential mate. That he’s even putting _potential mate_ in the same thought as a boy band superstar is an embarrassment to his werewolf ancestors, but the more he thinks about Stiles, looks at pictures of him, reads facts about him to better understand his charge, the more the wolf just… _wants_. 

As he drives to his first day on the job, wearing his leather jacket and his service weapon because he’s not sure if this is a “bring-your-own-gun” type of gig, he orders himself to be calm. He’s here to help Scott; Stiles is just his cover. Derek probably won’t even spend much time with him. 

He shows his temporary credentials to some people at the hotel Wolf Pack is staying at and is ushered upstairs to meet his fellow bodyguards. There are two on duty, twins named Ethan and Aidan. 

“Hey there, new guy.” Ethan shakes his hand. “You’re here for Stiles, right?” 

“Right.” 

“Grab a bagel. We’ll bring you up to speed on his stalker.” 

Derek sits and looks at the laptop screen in front of him. There’s an email open, full of emoticons and exclamation points, looking like something copied directly from a tween’s diary. “This is the guy?” 

“Or girl, we can’t be a hundred percent. It was all shit like this at first. We were just annoyed that they managed to find out Stiles’s email. But then it started getting…personal.” Ethan clicks open another email and Derek scans it. _You’re even dirtier than I imagined. I knew you liked it rough, liked being held down and fucked into your place, but I didn’t realize you even wanted to be dominated by puppies. Now I’m sad my dick doesn’t swell. I guess when I finally meet you I should bring my dog? Might be fun to train him to treat you the way you like ;)_

“Um,” Derek says in confusion. 

Aiden’s cheeks are red. “It’s…it’s referencing Stiles’s…porn habits. He confirmed it. The dick must have hacked into his computer.” 

Derek feels all the blood drain out of his face and make a dedicated journey to his dick. _Dominated by puppies_. Had Stiles been researching knotting? It was probably just to help Scott, not any actual sexual interest, but God— the reason Derek has been in such a dry spell lately is that almost no one in the world knows about werewolves and he’s afraid of accidentally popping a knot in someone’s ass. To be with someone who likes it, who _wants_ it… 

He shakes it off. This is such an inappropriate line of thought even he knows it’s not what a bodyguard should be thinking. “Can’t you track the IP address or something?” 

“No. Whoever’s doing it is good. We got a little nervous when he got this email a few weeks ago.” Aiden opens another email and Derek scans it. _You’re COMING BACK TO MY HOME STATE! I can’t wait to see you. California is the perfect place for our first meeting. I’ll get our room ready…_

“And then they started sending pictures of his father, and…yeah. We figured it was time to actually treat it as a concern. The best we can do in regards to a profile is that it’s a young guy, or girl. Probably between sixteen and twenty-five, emotionally immature, social loner.” 

“So I should be keeping an eye out for…everyone who goes to their concerts?” 

“Ha. You’re not wrong. Just stick close to Stiles when we’re out. Tonight the boys have a charity dinner thing, lots of celebrities so not a huge security risk, but it’s always possible they could sneak in as a waiter or something.” 

“Where’s Stiles now?” 

“He and Scott are sharing a room. Here’s the key. Go check in with them and see if the boys are doing anything before tonight’s party.” 

Derek walks to the boys’ room, hating himself for checking the collar of his jacket to make sure it looks good. He knocks and opens the door when Scott calls for him to come in. “Derek!” Scott says, stretched out on one of the beds. “We were wondering where you were.” 

Derek can hear the sounds of the shower running. “Is Stiles in there?” he asks, jerking his chin towards the bathroom. 

“Yeah, he takes forever.” Scott raises his voice. “Dude! Move your ass. Derek’s here.” 

The water squeaks off and seconds later the door opens. Stiles leans into the bedroom, dressed only in a towel. “Hey, Derek!” 

Derek has to take a second before he can respond. The steam from the shower is rolling out behind Stiles, perfumed with his scent. It makes Derek want to claim— to mark that freshly washed skin and suck the beads of water off the boy’s shoulder and rub his scent all over Stiles until he just smells _wrecked_ with it. “Hi,” he says gruffly. “You want to put some pants on?” 

Stiles grins guiltily and ducks back into the bathroom. Derek can still smell the heat of him in the room. He thinks of Kevin Costner carrying Whitney Houston’s curled form through a curtain of rain and suddenly it doesn’t seem so stupid. 

Fucking Cora. This is all her fault. 

Stiles walks out again, dressed in sweatpants and a grey t-shirt. His hair is wet and a little curly and he looks relaxed and happy. Derek has another image: Stiles’s head in Derek’s lap, Derek carding his fingers through Stiles’s hair, both of them reading or talking about something dumb. He can’t remember the last time someone has called to both his human side and his wolf side this way. It’s terrible. He hates it. 

“So can we just start wolf lessons now?” Stiles asks, dropping into one of those ugly hotel chairs. “Or is it strictly an under-the-light-of-the-full-moon thing?” 

Derek pulls his focus to the matter at hand, trying not to think about how dexterously Stiles curls his legs under his ass and just what other shapes he could make with his body. “No, this is fine. We can just talk today.” 

“Cool.” Scott leans forward eagerly. “So what’s the trick? How do I keep my head when I shift?” 

“There’s not really a trick to it. You just have to hold on to your control.” Derek keeps talking, making sure he doesn’t look away from Scott, telling himself that the only reason he still smell Stiles in the air is because of the shower steam, not because he’s deliberately attuned to the scent now, and that definitely _isn’t_ lust he smells coming from the kid. It’s probably just some very expensive cologne or body wash. Nothing to fantasize about whatsoever. 

# 

Stiles knows he should be paying dutiful attention to everything Derek is saying, because knowing Scott he’s only taking in every other word. It’s Stiles’s job to be the calm one in this duo, making sure Scott is taken care of, noting down everything that might be important so they can use it later. 

But holy shit does Derek look hot in that jacket. 

Stiles has always had a thing for a guy in leather. Leather jackets, leather pants, leather _crops_ …each has played dedicated roles in his fantasies over the years. So many fantasies. So many imaginary men in leather telling Stiles what a bad boy he’s been… 

“…but don’t eat it once you’ve killed it, because digesting raw rabbit meat in your human form is a bitch,” Derek says, finishing some long thing Stiles hadn’t heard. 

Scott looks green. “Good to know.” 

“Any other specific questions you had?” 

Scott coughs delicately and looks over at Stiles. “Well…we were wondering. Are there any…wolf parts…that we have in our human form?” 

Derek raises an eyebrow. “Can you give me, like, one degree more specificity?” 

“The penis,” Stiles says bluntly. “Scott was wondering if he has a knot.” 

Derek goes red. “Oh. Um. Well, yes. If you’re having sex and you’re…not in control…that part of you can…shift. It lasts about twenty minutes and behaves just like a wolf’s knot.” 

Scott’s mouth drops in horror. “Wouldn’t that kill her? Or at least, you know, rip it? _Down there?_ ” 

“It requires extensive prep. It’s absolutely not something you should do if you don’t know you can control it. You’re a long way away from that, Scott.” 

“Have you ever done it?” 

“Yes,” Derek snaps. “It’s fine if it’s done right. You’ll feel very…sated afterwards. But don’t worry about it now.” 

Stiles feels a familiar tightening in his pants and crosses his legs, trying to stay casual. “Oh. Well. Good stuff, good stuff. What else did you want to ask, Scott?” 

Derek wrinkles his nose slightly, as if he’s trying to smell something new in the air. His gaze lands on Stiles’s crotch and his cheeks tint a little darker. 

Wait. Shit. Can he smell _that?_

“I’m gonna go to the bathroom,” Stiles mutters, jumping out of his seat and booking it out. When he has the door shut tightly behind him he scowls at himself in the mirror. 

_Do not think about hot werewolf sex with Derek._

 _Do not think about hot werewolf sex with Derek._

 _

Derek’s lips on Stiles’s shoulders, hand stripping his dick, knot swelling in his ass… 

No! Shit! Do not think about hot werewolf sex with Derek…

_

It takes a few minutes to get himself under control. He flushes the toilet for appearances sake, washes his hands, and walks back out to his chair. Derek is talking earnestly to Scott about wolfsbane antidotes and doesn’t look over at Stiles once. 

Over the next two hours Stiles takes so many trips to the bathroom Scott asks in confusion if he should go find him some cranberry juice. He just can’t stop thinking about hot werewolf sex with Derek. 

He _is_ only human, after all. 

And really, as he watches Derek, he starts to think…maybe he should just go for it. 

The worst he could say is no, but he could also say yes. And if he _did_ say yes… 

_Derek’s lips on his shoulders, hand stripping his dick, knot swelling in his ass, hips snapping against him, driving into him, groaning in a wrecked voice how well he takes it…_

And back to the bathroom Stiles goes. 

# 

This job is going to kill Derek. 

He’s half a workday in and he’s already exhausted. Dealing with Scott is fine; he’s a good kid and he wants to learn and Derek has no doubt that he’ll be a top-notch werewolf. 

Stiles is a different story. 

Derek is no idiot; he knows why Stiles is taking so many bathroom trips. He’s clearly trying to hide his arousal, and if Derek hadn’t immediately locked in on his scent it might have worked. As it is Derek can smell each time the kid starts to get hard. 

He doesn’t know why he thinks of Stiles as a _kid_ ; he’s younger than Derek but he’s still an adult. Maybe it’s just the youthful eagerness about him. The way his grin lights up his face. Derek became an adult the day his family died and so happiness has ever since seemed distinctly childlike to him. Weariness speaks more than age and if there’s one thing Stiles isn’t, it’s weary. 

But that’s unfair. Happiness can also be an act, and Derek remembers the song Stiles had sung onstage about his mother. He’s not naïve or immature. He’s just better at hiding the ugly emotions than Derek is. 

Derek sighs and adjusts the piece under his jacket. He’s waiting for the boys to get dressed before they go to this ridiculous dinner party. He’s already called Cora to make sure she hasn’t burned down the house, hanging up on her when she started singing that Whitney Houston song in his ear. It’s going to be a late night. A miniscule part of Derek hopes that the stalker shows up so Derek can grab him, get him arrested, and not have any official reason to come back tomorrow. 

But a far more dominant part of him is starting to wonder what would be so terrible about following his instinct. Stiles is clearly interested in him. It wouldn’t have to be anything serious. Just something hot, hard, and good, free of any expectations. 

He doesn’t want to end up on some gossip magazine cover. But the kid is starting to chip away at his inhibitions, and Derek thought those had ossified by now. Just the thought of letting go feels good. Actually letting go might be just what he needs. 

“— still can’t ever get this right, I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” 

“You know I can’t do it. Ask Derek.” 

Derek turns to see Scott and Stiles coming down the hotel stairs together. Stiles is trying to get his tie done, nose as wrinkled as the fabric. “Why do I have to wear this? I look ridiculous.” 

“It’s the rules. Hey, Derek. Can you tie Stiles’s tie for him?” 

Stiles blushes. “You don’t have to do that. The only emergencies you don’t have to save me from are fashion emergencies. Ha. Ha.” 

“Good one,” Derek deadpans, and quickly ties it for him. When he tightens it he can feels Stiles’s pulse and he lets his fingers linger for a single, indulging second. “There you go.” 

Stiles stares at him. He looks good in formal wear; there’s already a rumpled look to him, as though he’s been rolling around in bed. “Thanks.” 

Derek’s voice sounds a little husky to his own ears. "Don’t mention it.” 

The other boys and bodyguards join them, laughing and talking loudly, and Derek walks out to the limousine without another word to Stiles. They sit across from each other in the limo and Derek watches him closely, admitting the way the suit hugs his body. Stiles catches him looking and grins. “Hey, you don’t have to be on bodyguard-duty in the car, you know.” 

“You never know where the enemy might be lurking.” 

“Good point. My vote? I think Jackson might be secretly obsessed with me. He only got in this band to get close to his target. Playing the very long con.” 

“You wish, Stilinski,” Jackson says without looking over. 

“Or it could be the limo driver,” Stiles whispers. “For all we know she’s really driving us to her secret lair. You might have to die for me in a hail of bullets tonight.” 

“My very first day on the job? Jeez, give me a week at least so I don’t look completely incompetent.” 

“Oof, I didn’t think about your job performance being tied directly to my life. That’s got to suck. Although I guess every minute I don’t get murdered is a gold star for you, so you’re doing great so far.” 

“Thanks,” Derek says. “I was wondering when someone was going to give me a little credit for it.” 

Stiles grins at him and Derek finds himself grinning back. Stiles’s smile in-person looks different than the smiles he’s seen in all of Cora’s posters. He stores it in his memory, a selfish little snapshot of something he pretends is just for him. 

# 

Stiles almost never drinks when he’s out, because the paparazzi tends to be all over that shit, and Stiles doesn’t want his grandmother’s Google alert showing her pictures of him stumbling out a bar half-naked. But tonight he grabs a few more drinks than usual, feeling reckless. 

The party is boring, mainly filled with the older Hollywood crowd and a few lucky reporters. The news about the Wolf Pack movie hasn’t broke yet so Stiles isn’t approached by many people— which is good, because Derek is so on-edge Stiles thinks he might literally crush a reporter’s spine with his bare hands. 

He’s following Stiles everywhere he goes— even the bathroom— and stares at everyone who comes near suspiciously. “Dude,” Stiles tells him after about an hour. “Did someone put out a hit on me without my knowledge? Why are you shadowing me?” 

“I’m looking for your stalker.” 

“Most of the bodyguards just kind of…watch from the walls.” Stiles gestures to the many, many bodyguards in the corners and backs of the room, watching their charges carefully. 

“That looks monumentally boring,” Derek mutters. 

“Yeah, because you’re clearly having the time of your life, party animal.” Stiles downs another glass of expensive champagne. “Trust me, DreadDoctor isn’t showing up here. Unless he’s secretly Henry Cavill in disguise, and I’m not that lucky.” 

Derek looks to where Henry Cavill is standing by the live band. “Henry Cavill, huh? That’s your type?” 

“Oh, yeah. Tall, dark, sculpted cheekbones, tragic eyes— just does it for me completely. Although I’m not wild about him in a suit. Now if he was wearing something a bit…muskier, like a jacket, like a _leather_ jacket…we’d really be talking.” 

Another reason he’s drinking tonight. 

He’s _hopeless_ at flirting sober. 

He grabs another glass off a passing tray and chugs it. 

“Is that so?” 

“Oh, yeah. But such men are hard to find in my circle, so I’m struggling.” 

“Maybe you should look outside the A-list.” 

“So true. I do like men who make an honest living, you know? Especially men who risk their lives in some sort of, say, service position…” 

“Like a firefighter?” 

“That’s good.” 

“Active military personnel?” 

“Even better.” 

“Well, if you see such a man, let me know and I’ll go stand in the corner. Wouldn’t want to cockblock you.” 

“No, no, I wouldn’t do that to you. You’d end up shooting half the people here in a panic move.” 

“Would not.” 

“You literally growled when the coat check lady touched my arm. You’re seriously over-protective, even for a bodyguard. It’s like you got all your training from that Kevin Costner movie.” 

Derek goes red and scans the crowd with a little scowl on his face. “It looks like someone’s moving in on your man,” he says after a few minutes as a woman corners Cavill and starts to chat him up. 

“That’s okay. It was never meant to be.” Stiles eyes up a tray of fancy-looking mushroom things. “Okay, let’s try something. I’m going to go chase down that waitress. You’re going to stay here and _not_ get separation anxiety. Only get out your gun if I yell the code word. The code word is _badger_. Sound good?” 

Derek rolls his eyes. “Sure. Grab me one of those mushrooms.” 

“Aye, aye.” Stiles strides across the floor. He wonders if Derek is looking at his ass. 

# 

Stiles’s ass looks great in a suit. 

Derek shifts uncomfortably in his jacket. Even though Stiles had joked about the separation anxiety thing, it’s kind of true. For some reason Derek just wants to be close to him. Maybe it’s just knowing that there’s someone out there who wants to hurt him, who could be closer than Derek knows. It makes him feel all…protective. 

Ridiculous werewolf senses. 

“Stiles Stilinski is certainly drinking more than usual tonight,” an oily voice says at his elbow. He looks down in surprised annoyance to see a young guy he doesn’t know, holding a notepad with a camera around his neck. “Any reason why?” 

Derek stares at him. “Uh, excuse me?” 

“Is it because the label won’t let him do his own music? Is it true he’s thinking of letting his contract expire?’ 

“Who the fuck are you?” 

“Or is it a man? Stiles is so private about his love life; plenty of people are wondering if maybe he’s secretly in love with Scott and doesn’t know how to deal with the unrequited love…but I’ve always wondered if he just grabs a fan in each city and calls it a day. He _does_ come off as quite the slut, don’t you think?” 

Derek immediately grips the guy by the lapels and nearly lifts him off the floor. “You listen to me, you smug little fucker—” 

“Whoa! _Whoa!_ ” Stiles throws himself between them, eyes wide. “Exactly the opposite of what I wanted you to do, Derek!” 

“This little asshole was saying— ” 

“I know, I know. He’s a reporter. Well, kind of. He has some stupid gossip blog and we never know how he gets in anywhere.” 

“Hi, Stiles,” the man says sweetly. “New bodyguard?” 

“Hi, Matt. You’re the scum of the earth.” Stiles rolls his eyes at Derek. “Just ignore him and he goes away. Look, I’m proud of you. You didn’t shoot anyone, and that automatically earns you at least a B-plus.” 

Derek tries to ignore the reporter. “I wanted to, though.” 

“You showed self-control.” Stiles leans close to him as Matt wanders away, looking disappointed. “Although if you wanted to show a little less self-control about…other things, that might knock you up to an A-plus.” 

Derek stares at him. “You’re drunk.” 

“No, no. I’m tipsy. Like a mom on a Tuesday night.” Stiles takes a glass from a passing waiter. “My motto is, when life gives you eight-hundred dollar champagne, drink it. Drink it all!” 

“Eight hundred dollar champagne? Is that real, or did you make it up?” 

“What am I, a sommelier? All I know is it’s good. You can’t try it, though, because you’re on duty. Want me to smuggle some out of here for later?” 

“That’s okay.” Derek can’t hide a little grin when Stiles nearly trips over his own feet. “I think you just went from Tuesday-night tipsy mom to my-husband-is-having-an-affair-with-his-secretary drunk mom.” 

“I’m a hot mess,” Stiles agrees cheerfully. “Get me out of here before I cause damage to myself and others.” 

Derek snorts at him and rounds up the other Wolf Pack boys, who are evidently relieved they have an excuse to leave. The bodyguards peel themselves off the walls and walk the boys out to the limousine. “Are you drunk?” Derek hears Scott whisper to Stiles. 

“Just a little.” 

“Did you get drunk so you would be brave enough to flirt with Derek?” 

“Shhhh,” Stiles whispers, putting about fifty syllables into the word. “He has _werewolf hearing,_ Scott.” 

Derek hides a grin and climbs into the limo, accidentally ending up right next to Stiles. He feels warm against Derek and he smells good, spiced with his expensive champagne and still shot through with low-grade arousal. “Tell me something,” he mumbles to Derek, low enough that none of the loudly chattering Wolf Pack boys can hear. “You ever bite anyone?” 

Derek shakes his head. “Nah. Never had a reason to.” 

“But do you _want_ to? As a wolf thing? Isn’t biting, like, elemental?” 

“Not really. When I’m a wolf I like to hunt things, or chase things, but just biting— not so much.” 

“Huh.” Stiles’s eyes dance. “Have you ever _been_ bitten?” 

“What?” 

“You know.” Stiles slides the jacket off his shoulder and lightly sinks his teeth through the fabric of Derek’s shirt. “Anyone ever bite you before, super-wolf?” 

Derek can’t answer past the roar in his head. No one has ever bitten him playfully like that before but as soon as Stiles’s teeth had clamped down Derek had just _lost_ it. Something about that, of being nipped playfully by someone who smells like mate, is doing things to his body he can’t even describe. He feels more turned on than he ever has before and it takes every bit of effort in his body not to pin the kid down and just _ravish_ him. “No,” he manages to say. His voice is a weird, tight growl. “No one’s ever done that before.” 

“Cool. I was your first.” Stiles’s fingers caress the spot. “Does that make me the alpha wolf?” 

Derek closes his eyes until he’s back under control. “I’m the alpha wolf,” he says quietly, making sure nobody but Stiles could possibly overhear. “And in a wolf pack, anyone who comes at the alpha wolf like that has to be taught a lesson. Understand?” 

Stiles’s eyes widen. “Yeah, alpha,” he whispers. “Teach me a lesson.” 

The limo pulls up to the hotel and they all spill out. Derek walks Stiles up to the hotel room while Scott stays behind— Derek is pretty sure some kind of quick text exchange went on between the two of them. At the door of the hotel room Stiles turns and looks expectantly at Derek. “Well,” he says. “That was quite the night.” 

Derek smirks at him. “Yes, it was. Sleep tight.” 

“Wait! Shouldn’t you, you know, check under my bed for assassins?” 

Derek chuckles and leans forward, filling up the doorway. “You’re drunk,” he says softly. “That means this is as far as I go tonight. Now, tomorrow, when you’re sober…maybe I come a step further.” 

Stiles grins and sways, hands coming up to grip the doorway too. “Yeah? Sure you can’t go just a _little_ further tonight?” 

Derek leans in and Stiles shuts his eyes. Derek waits until his lips are an inch away, then breathes, “Goodnight, Stiles,” and turns away, striding from the room without a backwards glance. He knows Stiles is watching him go. 

He checks off duty with the other bodyguards. When he gets in his car he catches himself grinning and he turns on the Wolf Pack album Cora had left for him, listening so he can pick Stiles’s voice out of the chorus. 

This job might not be so bad after all.


End file.
